The Night Before Christmas
by molly2012
Summary: Written for Sehrezad as part of the Zibbs holiday exchange. Not much of a storyline - just three chapters of Christmas fun with our favourite team, along with a hefty dose of fluff, a bit of festive matchmaking, a Christmas pudding and, of course, Zibbs. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

_This was written for Sehrezad as part of the Zibbs holiday exchange :). The prompts I got for this were kind of terrifying - as well as Zibbs (obviously), she asked for Borin/Fornell, knitting, two rescued greyhounds, someone being embarrassed, Gibbs's basement, and a pink blankie. I think I got them all...three chapters altogether. I haven't done any obsessive editing on this (another terrifying thing) and it should be posted fairly quickly. A massive thank you to Sehrezad for the prompts - which actually made it really fun to write! - and to Zivacentric for organising the story exchange again! _

**_Disclaimer - the usual. I own nothing. _**

* * *

Coffee. Finally, he had coffee.

Gibbs inhaled the steam from the take-out cup as he stood in the elevator. He liked to think that you could learn a lot about a man from the way he drank his coffee, and Leroy Jethro Gibbs certainly wasn't a syrup, froth, and chocolate sprinkles kind of guy. He never had been. He had always taken his coffee straight-up, black, and as strong as he could stomach, and this one smelled good. He took a tentative sip, and realised that it actually didn't taste bad either - especially in comparison to the muck that popped out of the vending machine around the corner from the bullpen. He hadn't had one since he had left the house that morning, and he was beginning to really need the kick it gave. It had been a long day, and it wasn't over yet.

The ping of the doors announced that he had reached the right floor, and, as he strode out of the elevator and down towards his desk, precious coffee held carefully in one hand, he wondered what his team had managed to dig up in his twenty-minute absence.

He wasn't wondering for long.

'Tony...'.

It was amazing, Gibbs thought, how much a person could tell from a single spoken word. Take that one, for example. Heavy on the frustration. More than a touch of desperation. And a definite hint of doubt - over whether to laugh or cry, believe or disbelieve.

It had been aimed at his senior field agent, Tony DiNozzo, and it had been agent Tim McGee who had started to speak, standing beside the plasma screen with his whole posture betraying his irritation. Gibbs set his coffee down on his desk and shrugged out of his coat, watching, waiting for the usual banter between his team members to begin. Mostly, he just let them get on with it...and although he would never have said so, he usually quite enjoyed it.

'Yes, McGee?'

DiNozzo swung around in his chair, a self-satisfied smile etched firmly onto his face and his eyebrows raised as he looked over at McGee.

'Be serious'. McGee gestured to the plasma. 'This is serious. We have a sailor in hospital in a serious condition after being attacked, and it's two days before Christmas'.

'Ahh'. DiNozzo leaned back, and stretched out his legs. 'So what are you more concerned about, McRudolph, the beaten-up sailor or the prospect of missing your Christmas dinner?'

McGee opened his mouth to retort, and then thought, and then closed it again. Gibbs tried to hide his smirk, but DiNozzo didn't bother, his smile broadening and his eyes lighting up. Gibbs could almost see his mind working, processing, saving McGee's reaction and storing it away to use for teasing or bribery at a future date. But before he could prompt his senior agent - or walk over and give him a slap to the back of the head - DiNozzo returned to the case in question.

'Anyway, I am being serious. Our sailor's friend claims that he saw someone in a Santa outfit running away, right?'

'He was drunk, Tony'.

'And here you go'. DiNozzo pointed at the plasma screen.

Something told Gibbs that he would not like what he was about to see.

Somewhat unwillingly, both he and McGee followed the line of DiNozzo's finger, their eyes falling on a brightly-coloured, photoshopped advert that showed an enormously fat Santa standing on Capitol Hill. He had a sack thrown over one shoulder, and a wide grin that was visible even through the mass of curly white hair that formed a spectacular beard. But what caught Gibbs's attention was not the fact that no man could keep a beard looking that fluffy and white. It was the text at the top of the advert - the bold red lettering that proclaimed,

'13th Annual Washington DC SantaCon!'

Gibbs couldn't help himself.

'SantaCon?'

'Santa convention'. DiNozzo said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 'The non-denominational, non-political, charitable get-together of Santas from all over DC and beyond. Happens every year, I was thinking of going myself once. Anyone can join in as long as you have a half-decent Santa outfit. Would have needed some padding, of course, but the stick-on beard wasn't bad'.

'So ...' McGee looked like he had a nasty taste in his mouth as he looked from DiNozzo, to the plasma, and back to DiNozzo again. 'The attack took place on the evening of the convention. Which means...'

'Which means, McScrooge, that we have at least five hundred and eighty four suspects who all looked exactly alike'.

Gibbs reached for his coffee.

'Five hundred and eighty four people went to this thing?'

'Oh, yeah'. DiNozzo chuckled. 'I called the organisers. Highest number so far, and they also broke their record for the fattest Santa. Two hundred and thirty eight pounds of ho ho ho'. His grin faded a little as he considered what he had just said. 'Although I'm not sure if that's a good thing, or whether that would just be scary...'

'DiNozzo'.

'Yes, boss?'

'You got a register of participants at this thing?'

'Yes, boss'.

Gibbs raised his eyebrows. He didn't have to do anything else, and the words 'get on with it' didn't need to be spoken. McGee shot back to his desk like he had been released from a spring, and DiNozzo tucked his legs back underneath his chair and reached for the phone. Five hundred and eighty four Santas needed to be tracked down, investigated and eliminated - or not.

Another mouthful of life-saving coffee.

'Oh, and Fornell's downstairs'.

The coffee went down the wrong way, and Gibbs spluttered. Fornell? As in...

'Tobias?'

'Yeah'. DiNozzo looked totally unconcerned. 'In Abby's lab'.

Gibbs didn't stop to ask why Tobias Fornell was in Abby's lab. His old friend and sparring partner - probably more of the latter than the former, but still - was an agent with the FBI. And the FBI poking their noses into the NCIS forensics lab was not good. Not good at all.

He heard DiNozzo call after him, but didn't turn around to find out what the younger agent had said and, deciding that the stairs would be quicker, he went straight past the elevator doors and took them two at a time. At the bottom, he heard Abby's lab before he could see it. A slightly tinny, jazzed up version of 'Hark the Herald' was playing at almost full volume and, if he hadn't known better, he could have sworn he heard a man's voice singing along.

But the sight that greeted him as he swung through the door and into the lab was even more extraordinary, and he stopped in his tracks. He had seen some strange things down here. But never anything as strange as this.

'What the...?'

Abby was standing with her back to the door, her attention focused on the computer screens in front of her. Her bright red mini skirt was fringed with white fur, and glittery tinsel was wrapped around her ponytails. But that was relatively normal. It certainly wasn't what had brought Gibbs to a halt.

'Afternoon, Jethro'.

It was that.

Tobias Fornell was sitting at the work bench behind Abby. In front of him was a plate of Christmas cookies, a glass of what looked - and smelled - suspiciously like Abby's homemade, non-alcoholic mulled wine...and a ball of baby-soft pink wool.

Tobias Fornell was knitting.

'Gibbs! You're late!'

'Late, Abs?'

Gibbs didn't take his gaze from Fornell as Abby turned the music down and spun around to face him, her expression stern.

'You always come down as soon as I have something. And I had something five minutes ago, I've been waiting'.

'Coulda called...what the hell, Tobias?'

'Knitting, Jethro'.

'I get that. Why?'

Fornell just inclined his head towards Abby, who immediately dropped the stern look and broke into a smile.

'Oh, my friend's just adopted two greyhounds. From the rescue centre. They're the cutest things, Gibbs, they really are. And it's cold this time of year, so I'm knitting them coats. Or rather...' She paused for breath. 'We are. Everyone who comes down has to do at least a row'. She nodded happily as Tobias held up his contribution for inspection, and Gibbs was surprised to see it was almost perfect. No holes. No dropped stitches.

He didn't like to ask where, when, or how, exactly, Tobias had learnt to knit.

'Our ex-wife'.

'Ah'.

'Your turn, Gibbs!'

Not a snowball's chance in hell.

And besides, he had more important things to be thinking about...like why, precisely, Tobias Fornell had come to Abby's lab in the first place.

'You come here to knit, Tobias?'

'Nope'. Fornell chuckled, and put down the knitting - Gibbs noticed that he didn't even try and hand it over. 'I came because your case and my cases are linked, I think. Went up to the bullpen, but you weren't there. So Miss Scuito here kindly offered me a homemade cookie while I waited'. He looked ruefully at the ball of wool. 'Although now I think she might have had an ulterior motive'.

Abby pouted. 'Agent Fornell, I'm hurt'.

'Linked how?'

'Same MO, same victim profile. Young men, all in their early thirties, beaten with a blunt object around Christmas time. No apparent motive, no forensic evidence. Three other states so far - New Jersey last year, Pennsylvania and Connecticut the year before - but the other victims weren't so lucky'.

Gibbs took that to mean that the other victims had died.

'You got anything that might help?'

'Nope'.

At least, Gibbs thought, he was honest.

'But I do'. Abby looked pleased with herself. 'And if you'd let me get a word in, I would have told you by now. I found a fibre on the sailor's jacket, right where he'd been beaten. And it doesn't match anything he was wearing'.

'Know what it came from?'

'Working on it'. Abby reached over Tobias for another star-shaped cookie. 'But it's red'. She took a bite, and chewed quickly. 'I can't believe Santa would do such a thing'.

Gibbs groaned inwardly. DiNozzo must have rung down to the lab in his excitement over the SantaCon, or whatever it was. He drained his coffee cup and dumped it in Abby's trash, wondering whether his twenty-minute absence had been worth it. Everything seemed to have happened while he was out getting coffee.

Half an hour later, and the plate of cookies was empty. Tobias had done another row - 'one row knit, Jethro, one row purl' - and Abby had changed the music to 'Jingle Bells'. The fibre was under the microscope and displayed in all its glory on the computer screen for Gibbs and Tobias to see as well...not that they had any idea what they were looking at.

'One hundred percent polyester', Abby announced. 'PBT. Polybutylene terephthalate'.

'So what could it have come off?'

Abby turned around to face them. 'Lots of things, Agent Fornell. Polyester is one of the most commonly used fibres in clothing, bed linen, carpets, industrial textiles, and so on and so on. But, having said that, it is fairly unusual to find this particular polyester in clothing. It's used mainly for sportswear, swimming costumes, that kind of thing'.

'Swimming costumes?'

Gibbs had a sudden mental image of a man in a red swimsuit, with a Santa hat and beard, and his eyes widened slightly while Tobias spluttered a bit over his last mouthful of cookie. Gibbs could tell that he had the same thought, and their eyes met in amusement.

'Yeah'. Abby turned back to her computer, ignoring the smirks on the mens' faces. 'And some other things, too. But you need to give me some time, Gibbs. I'm good, and I know it's Christmas, but I'm not a miracle worker'.

'Not too much time, Abs'.

Abby waved a hand to show that she had heard, that she understood, and that the conversation was over. But before Gibbs and Tobias could make their exits, a familiar voice came from the doorway.

'Knitting, Abby?'

Gibbs knew that voice. What he didn't understand was why he was hearing it here.

'Don't tell me'. He turned around. 'The coastguard are after Santa too'.

'Why would we be after Santa?' Abigail Borin replied as best she could, considering that she was being smothered in a hug by the other Abby. 'I want presents on Christmas morning as much as anyone else, Gibbs'.

Gibbs inclined his head, his characteristic half-smile spreading across his face. He liked Agent Borin. She was fun, smart, and, on those occasions when NCIS and the Coastguard had worked together, he had found her very good at her job. She was also very attractive - not that he was interested - and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tobias turn a faint shade of pink that was remarkably similar to the wool he had been knitting with.

'So'. Borin finally extricated herself from Abby's crushing hug, and gestured towards the table. 'What you making?'

'Greyhound coats'. Abby sauntered back to her computer. 'Agent Fornell was just helping out'.

Tobias's face began to turn from pink to a light red.

'Oh?' Borin raised her eyebrows, and looked over at him, but before she - or Abby - could say anything else, Gibbs interrupted.

'You need something, Borin?'

'Nope'. Borin perched on the corner of the desk, her long wool coat slipping open to reveal a simple black jumper and tight jeans. Gibbs didn't dare look to see if Tobias was watching. 'Came to meet Ziva for a coffee and thought I'd call down and say hi first. Didn't she mention it?'

Her question was directed at Gibbs, and he nodded. Now that he thought about it, that did ring a bell. Ziva had mentioned something about meeting Abby...but they had been in bed at the time, and his full attention had not been on what she was saying. And he had thought that she meant the other Abby. Their Abby.

'Yeah. She did'.

'So why did you think I was after Santa?'

Gibbs looked at Tobias, who still looked as if he was having a hot flush, and suppressed a smirk. He would have to try and ask Ziva later if she thought it might be reciprocated...but for now, he couldn't be bothered to explain about the case. He would leave that to the others.

'Never mind'. He headed towards the door. 'Abs, call me if you get anything. Tobias, you dropped a stitch'.

'Hey!' Despite himself, Tobias was indignant.

'And Borin...have fun with my wife'.


	2. Chapter 2

It was late by the time Gibbs finally arrived home that evening. Pushing open the front door, he was welcomed by the smell of fresh baking coming from the kitchen, and he smiled. He and Ziva had been married six months. They had been living together for six months before the wedding. And yet he still felt vaguely surprised to find her there. Surprised...and happy. It gave him a warm, contented feeling that he hadn't thought he would ever feel again, and it filled him with a vague sense of wonderment every single time.

He tried never to take that for granted.

Following the smell through to the kitchen without even taking his coat off, he found Ziva at the counter, floury hands in a mixing bowl and a tray of cookies already cooling on a rack. Music was playing, and he recognised a gentle jazz compilation that was one of her favourites. She hadn't drawn the blinds, but the room still seemed warm. Homely.

He walked softly over from the door, and wrapped his arms around her waist.

'Hi'.

'Hi yourself'. She chuckled, and turned her head to catch his kiss. 'I got your message. Did something come up?'

'Umm-hmm'.

That was one way of putting it.

Over a cold beer Gibbs began to relax, while Ziva continued to make the biscuits that they would be eating with soup. She refused to let Gibbs help, citing the doughy disaster that he had created last time, and instead insisted that he sit at the kitchen table and fill her in, as much as he could, on what had happened.

As he did so, he thought - not for the first time - how much he missed having Ziva on the team. It had been a firm belief of his that work and pleasure never mixed, but Ziva had changed everything. And despite his own self-imposed rules, and his own worries about how it would work in practical terms, he had never really considered working without her beside him. He had grown to rely on her expertise, her grit and determination, her courage. And - he admitted it - he had wanted to be able to keep an eye on her. That same courage and determination that he valued so much could also, at times, result in recklessness. He couldn't stand the thought of anything happening to her and him not being there, and although he had been berated more than once for being over-protective, he knew that she appreciated the sentiment behind it.

She knew that Leroy Jethro Gibbs was not usually a sentimental man.

It had therefore come as something of a surprise when she had, somewhat tentatively, told him that she was thinking of applying for a transfer, to a vacant position as a senior analyst on the NCIS Middle Eastern desk. He hadn't been able to understand, or imagine it, at first. Ziva belonged in the field. It was what she loved, what she excelled at, and he hated the thought that she was preparing to give it up because she was worried about the effect it might eventually have on their relationship. He had felt like she was changing for him, and that wasn't what he wanted.

But, as usual, Ziva had managed to win him round. And he had to admit that there had been times when he had been very glad that she was safely behind a desk. It had been difficult, sometimes, to adjust to the change - for both of them, and for the remains of his team. Ziva had not yet been replaced.

But they were all getting there.

'So did Abby manage to work her usual miracles?' Ziva placed a steaming bowl of soup in front of him, along with a plate of the biscuits, and sat down beside him with her own.

Gibbs smirked as he reached for a biscuit.

'Doesn't she always?'

It hadn't taken long - and he had known it wouldn't. Once she got on to something, Abby never let it rest until she had some sort of answer or result, and, in this case, that had been to match the fibre to a specific make of Santa costume. It had been simple enough to find the one shop in the DC area that sold that particular make. And, although it had taken a little longer than Gibbs would have liked, it had also been fairly easy to match the credit card details supplied by the store to a participant in the SantaCon.

The delighted smirk on DiNozzo's face had been something to behold.

'Now that I wish I had seen', Ziva chuckled. 'Although I am very glad that the case is nearly closed. It will not interfere with our Christmas dinner tomorrow, no?'

Gibbs shook his head, his mouth too full of soup and biscuit to reply properly. It was going to be their first Christmas - and Hanukkah - as a married couple. Ziva's first holiday season as Mrs Gibbs. And, although they were planning a quiet day for Christmas itself, Ziva had wanted to do something on Christmas Eve. The entire team was descending for a pre-Christmas Christmas dinner, complete with a dessert and homemade eggnog courtesy of Ducky...and he knew that Ziva had been looking forward to it for weeks.

It was why he had - for once - been happy to hand over the task of tracking down and arresting their suspect to Fornell. The FBI had, after all, been working the previous cases, and while that would not normally have swayed Gibbs into handing things over, he did not want anything to get in the way of tomorrow. He didn't want his team delayed by interrogations or unexpected complications. And if that meant the FBI got most of the credit, then so be it. He had other priorities now.

Besides, he had also been looking forward to the get-together...although he would never have admitted that to anyone except Ziva.

He had a reputation to uphold.

Later, when they had finished the soup and cleared away, they headed down to the basement, where Gibbs was working on a wooden dressing table for Ziva. It was almost midnight, and Gibbs was sure that Ziva had to be exhausted. He was beginning to feel tired himself. But it had become a ritual for them in the evenings, and he loved having this time with her. She would curl up on an oversize beanbag that he had brought down for her and read, or simply watch him while he worked. And she had even managed to make the basement festive, with a fir garland stretched out along the length of the shelf above his workbench. Berries, pine cones and wooden stars were artfully placed at various intervals, and Ziva had found some plain white fairy lights that twinkled in the garland and along the wall either side. It looked beautiful. And the best part was that it bore all the little hallmarks of Ziva. It was simple, but classy. And it reminded Gibbs how lucky he felt - how lucky he was - to have her as his wife.

The dressing table was almost finished. It just needed a little sanding here and there, a little tweaking around the drawer, and a coat of varnish. It was her Christmas and Hanukkah gift, made exactly to her own specifications, but he had been worried about not finishing it in time, even though she had insisted that it didn't matter. As he worked the sandpaper slowly back and forth, following the grain of the wood, he smiled to himself as he thought of giving her the extra little present that he had bought. She loved to treat herself with scented bath bubbles and luxurious shower creams and moisturisers, and he had found some beautiful ones from a small, specialist store that had just opened. He had Ducky to thank for pointing him in the right direction, and the delicate smell of jasmine and freesia as he had walked into the shop had immediately reminded him of their honeymoon in France. For once, he had not felt uncomfortable browsing, and even asked for advice from the sales assistant - something he normally hated doing. But he knew that Ziva would appreciate what he had bought.

So, for that matter, would he.

Recollections of the gift made him think about their wedding and honeymoon again, and that in turn led him to think about Tobias. The connection was maybe a bit premature, but he nearly chuckled out loud as he remembered the look on his friend's face when Borin had walked into Abby's lab.

'What is so funny?'

Ziva's voice sounded sleepy, and when he turned away from the table to look at her, he realised that she had indeed been dozing against the beanbag.

'Sorry'. He put the sandpaper down and walked over to her, reaching down to brush a stray strand of hair away from her cheek. 'Didn't realise you were asleep'.

'I was not really sleeping'. Ziva shifted so that there was room for him too, and grinned. 'And now I am wide awake. So...?'

Gibbs shrugged as he sat down, slipping an arm around her shoulders. 'Just thinking about Tobias. Borin came down to the lab before she met you. Tobias was there'.

'Ah'.

He noticed that Ziva's grin widened. She didn't ask what Borin had to do with Tobias, or why Gibbs had made that connection in his mind, and he guessed that at least some of her time with her friend that afternoon had been spent discussing that very subject.

'Yes, she did mention something about seeing him'. A mischievous glint had entered her brown eyes. 'She seemed a little...distracted, shall we say. I was not really sure whether it was Tobias himself or the fact that he was knitting that put her in a...'

She paused, searching for the right word, before Gibbs supplied one for her.

'Tailspin?'

Ziva thought for a few seconds, and then nodded. 'Yes, that will do. I suspect it was a bit of both. But she likes him'. She searched Gibbs's blue eyes, realisation slowly dawning that they were both thinking the same thing.

'Perhaps...' She bit her bottom lip, obviously trying not to laugh. 'A bit of festive matchmaking?'

Gibbs inclined his head, his own characteristic half-smile tugging at his lips. 'Could invite them tomorrow'.

'I already had'.

'Make sure they sit together'.

'I was thinking more of leaving them under the mistletoe somewhere'.

'Mistletoe?' Gibbs hadn't seen any mistletoe hanging up anywhere...unless he had just missed it.

'Don't worry'. Ziva chuckled. 'I have not hung it yet. But it would be a good opportunity, no?'

'Don't need mistletoe to want to kiss you'.

Her lips were soft, tasting vaguely of the mint tea that she had been drinking earlier, and for a moment he lost himself in the feel of her, all thoughts of Tobias and Borin forgotten. They had once had a conversation in which he had told Ziva that his second favourite activity was kissing her. When she had indignantly enquired what his absolute favourite was, he had jokingly replied that it was eating her homemade biscuits. Now, despite the supper that she had made for him, he wondered whether he might have to revise that order.

He sensed her smile before she pulled away slightly.

'That is good'. He felt the light breath from her whisper cross his cheek, and he leaned in for another kiss. But her finger on his lips stopped him, and she shifted a little so that she could turn and face him. It allowed him to see her face properly, and he wasn't sure whether to be alarmed at the mixture of happiness, excitement, and slight trepidation in her expression.

'Because I have something to tell you'.


	3. Chapter 3

_I won't leave you hanging any longer...thanks for reading! Hope you enjoy this last chapter :). _

* * *

'Tobias, stop exaggerating'.

'I'm not!' Tobias protested, a little too loudly and a little too quickly for anyone to actually believe him. Not that they really minded. It was Christmas Eve. Everyone had drunk a little too much, eaten a little too much - even though there was still Ducky's dessert to come - and everything was flowing nicely. Conversation, laughter, wine. But it hadn't escaped Gibbs' notice that Borin had begun calling Tobias by his first name and, when he discreetly caught Ziva's eye, he saw that she had caught the shift as well.

'The guy was in the Santa costume, with a sack full of presents, and on his lunch break from the grotto in the mall. And then...'.

'Santa gets a lunch break?' DiNozzo looked incredulous, and Abby slapped him gently on the arm.

'Of course he does! He can't do all that work on Christmas Eve if he's already exhausted!'

Tobias tried to carry on telling his story about what had happened when his team had arrested the Santa suspect, but was largely drowned out by the resulting argument between Abby and DiNozzo as to whether Santas ought to get paid lunch breaks, and soon Borin was the only one listening. McGee gave up trying to follow, and started earnestly explaining the intricacies of a new online gaming network to Jimmy Palmer - who, to his credit, did look vaguely interested - while Ducky left the dining room with Ziva to tend to his mysterious dessert. Which left Gibbs to start clearing the table of the remaining plates, trying not to grin to himself as he allowed his thoughts to wander.

Ziva's news the previous evening had not been entirely unexpected, but he had still felt the rush of joy and wonder and amazement that he had never thought he would feel again. He had never really expected to be given a second chance at having a family. If he was honest, he had never thought that he deserved it. It had taken him long enough - too long - to get his head around the idea that the woman he had been attracted to for so long wanted him too. And, for a good while, he had struggled to accept that she loved him.

He still didn't really understand why.

He had no idea what he could have done to deserve not only Ziva as his wife, but the chance to become a father again. Maybe miracles did happen at Christmas after all...and, even though the thought of it all was slightly overwhelming, he decided not to question it too much. His main concern was Ziva. He wanted to be there for her in every way he could.

He had been given a second chance. He wasn't going to waste it.

'And when we opened the presents in his sack...'

'Wait'. Borin was laughing and, when Gibbs looked over, she was resting her hand on Tobias's arm. 'You opened the presents?'

'Of course'. Tobias did look a little ashamed, though. 'Had to make sure they weren't gonna blow up'.

Borin smirked, and took another mouthful of wine. 'Right'.

'Anyway...'

Gibbs shook his head, a chuckle escaping him as he picked up the plates and left the room, leaving Tobias to carry on explaining what, exactly, had been in the Santa's sack. When he reached the kitchen Ducky had disappeared, presumably to the bathroom, but Ziva was still there. And, for a moment, Gibbs just stood and watched her. He didn't think he had ever seen her look so beautiful.

She wore a low-cut, white silk blouse, and black jeans that showed off her slim figure perfectly. Casual and stylish - and, on her, stunning. Her brown hair was glossy and lustrous, curling its way down around her shoulders, and a touch of makeup highlighted her strong cheekbones and full lips.

But it wasn't just the simple, classy combination of clothes. It wasn't even the lacy bra that he knew was underneath, although that certainly helped. The beauty he saw tonight came from the inside. Her eyes sparkled as she turned to face him, giving away her delight at the occasion, and she was relaxed, glowing.

He had a feeling that the next nine months were going to suit her.

He put the plates that he was carrying down on the counter, and crossed over to her, placing his hands on her shoulders and rubbing the tops of her arms gently.

'You okay?'

Ziva nodded, smiling up at him, and it was only then that he saw that part of the sparkle had been tears.

'Yes. Just happy'. She spoke softly, looking a little embarrassed, but he could tell that she was not lying. And he understood.

She had done an amazing job with dinner. He had helped, or tried to, but it had been mostly her ideas, her delicious cooking, her creative decorations. Even the weather had cooperated, with the tiniest flakes of snow beginning to fall outside, making the atmosphere inside seem even warmer and cosier. It was perfect. And Ziva had never had a family like the one that was currently sat around their dining table.

Neither had he. Not for a very long time, anyway.

On Christmas Eve, with their first child on the way and surrounded by the love of their closest friends, he could see how 'perfect' could make her want to cry, just a little.

He reached over a wiped a stray tear away just as a look of horror crossed her face. 'You do not think...surely it cannot be hormones already?'

He smiled as he pulled her closer into a hug. 'Doubt it'.

'If I am crying at three weeks, what will I be like at three months?'

'A blubbering wreck'. Gibbs teased her quietly as he stroked her hair. 'But beautiful. And strong. And sexy. And still my Ziver'.

She sniffed quietly against his chest.

'They are good friends, yes?'

He listened for a few seconds to the banter and laughter coming from the dining room, and nodded.

'Umm-hmm'.

'They will be pleased for us?'

'Course'.

Gibbs felt her smile.

'I think Tobias and Abby are getting on well'.

'Got to thinking….' He pulled away a little so that he could look down at her, the twinkle in his blue eyes alerting her to the fact that he was about to tease her. 'Should buy Tobias some more of that pink wool. He could turn his hand to a blanket or two'.

Ziva raised her eyebrows.

'What makes you think we will need pink?' She patted her flat stomach gently. 'If it is a boy, he will be very confused if he is made to wear a pink baby blanket'.

'Thought we were in an age of equality?'

'Well, yes, but...'

But, before Ziva could elaborate on why pink was meant for girls and blue for boys and why she was beginning to feel quite traditional on the subject, she was interrupted by Ducky returning to the kitchen.

'Are we almost ready, Ziva?'

He looked excited as he gestured to a large covered saucepan on the stove. Steam was rising from the edges, even though the heat had been turned off, and Gibbs realised where the wonderful rich, fruity smell had been coming from.

'We are'. Ziva nodded. 'Do you need some help with it?'

Together, they helped Ducky drain the pan and get the contents onto a plate before escorting him back through to the dining room. They had only been gone ten minutes but, in that time, glasses had been refilled and some sort of musical chairs seemed to have taken place. Abby had moved to sit next to McGee, while Borin's chair had been taken by Jimmy Palmer, who was engrossed in a short video that DiNozzo was showing him on a cell phone. And instead of finding another empty chair, Borin had elected to perch on Tobias's knee.

Gibbs doubted that Jimmy knew that he was aiding and abetting a matchmaking attempt, but thanked him for it anyway. Especially since Tobias's hands had worked around to rest on Borin's hips – and he was looking like the cat that had got the proverbial cream.

Strike one.

The sight of Ducky with the pudding was enough to quiet the conversation around the table, and even Jimmy looked up and paused the video.

'Ducky, what is that?'

'This, my dear Timothy, is a proper Christmas pudding'. Ducky held the plate up reverently, making sure that everyone could see the perfectly round, dark pudding that sat in the middle of it. 'Made to a traditional Mallard recipe, handed down the generations. It's a very popular at Christmas across the colloquial pond'.

Abby clapped her hands in delight.

'I've never had a Christmas pudding before. I've heard of them, but never had one'.

Ducky looked shocked.

'You've never had a Christmas pudding? Well, my dear, it's about time we remedied that terrible omission. We used to have one every year in Scotland. And I've even put the Mallard shilling in it'.

'What do you mean, the Mallard shilling's in it?' DiNozzo peered suspiciously at the pudding. 'What's a shilling?'

'An old English coin, Anthony'. Ducky explained as if talking to a small child. 'It's traditional to put one in the mixture. Whoever finds it will have good luck for the coming year. Now….' He deposited the plate in the centre of the table. 'If someone could get just get me a spoonful of brandy...you set light to the brandy and then pour it over the pudding. If it works, it looks rather spectacular'.

'In there'. Ziva was on the wrong side of the table, but she pointed to the cabinet in the corner of the room and Borin stood up to fetch the bottle. Ducky thanked her before pouring a generous amount into a tablespoon, and Ziva reached across to dim the lights before leaning in closer to Gibbs. He smiled as he slipped an arm around her shoulders. Although the idea of a flaming pudding seemed a bit strange, it also seemed quite special.

Maybe he wasn't as cynical as he had thought.

'Here we go...' Ducky held the spoonful of brandy over the naked flame of the candle that lit the centre of the table, and waited. And waited. There was an expectant hush around the table that was only broken as DiNozzo began a very light drum roll on the table, and Gibbs couldn't help smirking as Ziva gave him a little nudge in the ribs. He knew what she was looking at. Borin had remained standing after fetching the brandy, but was now behind Tobias's chair, her hands resting on his shoulders.

Strike two.

'Oh, yay!'

Abby squealed, her face breaking into a wide smile as the brandy finally caught light. Blue flames flickered and danced above the metal spoon, and seemed to cascade down as Ducky carefully poured the blazing liquid over the pudding. A spontaneous cheer went up and Ducky, blushing slightly, took a little bow.

It did look pretty good.

'A toast!' Abby raised her wine glass and, caught up in the spirit of the moment, everyone else followed suit. 'To...'

She paused, thinking.

'Santas?' DiNozzo raised his glass hopefully.

'Puddings?' That one came from Jimmy, who was still gazing in awe at the flames licking the plate.

'Knitting'. Borin said it quietly, but with a definite hint of laughter in her voice, and Tobias twisted in his chair to look up at her. He was trying to glare at her, but ended up chuckling and resting his hands against hers on his shoulders.

Strike three.

Not bad for an evening's work.

'To the spirit of Christmas'.

'The spirit of Christmas!' It was echoed around the table as everyone took another drink, and the flames surrounding the pudding slowly died away.

'And puddings'.

But no one responded to Jimmy's slightly tipsy addition to the toast. Bowls and spoons were handed round, and Ducky answered questions about the pudding – 'Dried fruit, flour, eggs, brandy….Traditionally, it's tied in a muslin cloth and then boiled, but I have to confess I cheated and used a plastic basin' – as he cut generous slices for everyone. And then…..silence.

'Wow'. DiNozzo's mouth was full as he spoke. 'Is ee goo'.

'What?'

DiNozzo swallowed, and tried again before he took another large mouthful. 'This is really good'.

Ducky raised his eyebrows, his eyes twinkling. 'You sound surprised'.

'I am'. DiNozzo chewed. 'I….'

But trying to chew, swallow and talk at the same time had evidently not been a good idea. Coughing and spluttering, he put down his spoon and gestured to his chest as Ducky stood up to thump him hard on the back.

'Go down the wrong way, Anthony?'

'Something...like that...phew!' DiNozzo stopped coughing and swallowed again, hard, before his eyes widened in alarm and he looked around the table. 'Uh-oh'.

'What?'

'Is that shilling still lucky if you swallow it?'

And, as the table collapsed in laughter, Gibbs thought he knew exactly what Abby had meant with her toast.

The spirit of Christmas.

He had it right there and, at that moment, he felt like the luckiest man alive.


End file.
